


A World Without You

by Voido



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Bad Ending, Character Death, M/M, heavy spoilers, mostly ryuji's pov tbh, post casino-palace, prior relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-05-05 21:11:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14627115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voido/pseuds/Voido
Summary: Everything has been planned through from start to finish - the infiltration, fight, capture and even the interrogation. And yet, the Phantom Thieves find themselves realizing that all it needs for failure is to underestimate the enemy, and that some dreams fade before you can even try and reach out for them.[Or: Things go horribly wrong, and no matter how many times they imagine Akira walking in, smiling casually, eyes hidden behind glasses, hands buried deep into his pockets - with days and weeks passing by, they have no choice but to understand that he's never coming back.]





	1. Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot, but it would've been too long and it would've addressed way too many different plot points, so I'm splitting it into smaller bits, and I hope you can forgive me for actually doing this to my beloved babies, because I'm not sure if _I_ can forgive myself for it.  
>  ~~I promise I'll update my other shit soon, I'm sorry!!~~

They're waiting.

It's been merely two hours since the Tokyo-wide announcement of the Phantom Thieves' leader's suicide, and they all know it's a contest of patience.

Futaba has gone quiet some time ago, a deep, angry frown on her face. Apparently, the energy went out down in the interrogation room hall, so she can't say anything about the situation down there, and since Sae Niijima doesn't pick up the phone, they can't ask her, either.

But Futaba isn't worried, not really. After all, Akira is her hero, her brother, her key-item. He'll return as he always does, smile his slim smile and pat her on the head just the way she likes it.

Makoto looks at her phone a bit too frequently for it to look casual. She highly expects a phone call from her sister any second, skipping any useless talk and going straight to the point of _where can I bring him where he is safe?_ It's been a lot longer than they've expected, and her fingers start shaking on the screen.

But Makoto is only slightly worried. If there's anyone in the world who would be able to convince Sae of who the true enemy is, it's Akira – their leader, their pillar, their source of strength to go on.

Haru barely sips on her coffee. It's great, as always, and she believes that Leblanc coffee will forever be one of her favorite. Yet, somehow it doesn't taste right, and she's added too much sugar in her slight trance.

But Haru believes that it's only the memory of her father  which  stresses her out. The moment of shock, of not understanding what's happening, of being scared that they'd made a mistake. She believes that very soon, Akira will be back, as he always is.

Ann plays with her hair, a habit she's picked up a while ago and that has now become routine whenever she's nervous. Her phone blinks, indicating a new email, but she can't really care, as her mind is occupied anyway.

But Ann is sure that she's just nervous because of how long it's been and how quiet the others are. She trusts Futaba's and Makoto's plan and the strong bond of the Phantom Thieves, and she especially trusts Akira. He's cool, calm and collected. No matter the situation, he'll handle it.

Morgana is unnaturally quiet, even for a cat. Instead of using the counter as a throne like he usually does, he's curled up to a ball, seemingly not  _daring_ to say a single word. After all, the first clues about their true enemy came up because of him.

But Morgana doesn't doubt that they're doing the right thing and that things will be fine. After all, Akira has been the only one to see the clues as well, so if anyone has the wits and knowledge to maneuver themselves out of such a dangerous situation, it's him.

Yusuke sits unmoving ever since arriving, pen in one hand and sketchbook in the other. There's not a single line on the paper, an ironic contrast to the dark, negative thoughts tainting him with any given second.

But Yusuke isn't going to let his internal fears win, not again. Spending so much time in this group, he has learned to not only trust himself, but that relying on others doesn't have to be toxic or bad. Relying on his friends has given him power, relying on Akira has given him the courage to go on.

Ryuji looks the most carefree out of all of them, that's for sure. There's an encouraging smile on his lips, he's trying to ease the mood with words and actions, makes it seem like they're just meeting up like they always do, like nothing is wrong.

But Ryuji isn't even half as strong as he pretends to be. Behind his smile, he's grinding his teeth; under the table, his nails are digging into the fabric of his pants; underneath his endless babbling, there's an endless void, a motionless silence, a finite infinity of pain, guilt, sorrow and regret. Ever since the beginning, Akira has never even once let him down, failed to be the best friend there could ever be, and maybe that's the exact reason Ryuji can't stop himself from feeling like somehow, right here in this empty, cold, silent café, things are coming to an end so abruptly that his brain refuses to understand it.

They're waiting.

All together, they're waiting.

But when the phone finally rings, when Makoto's eyes widen, when Futaba stares at her computer's screen in disbelief, when Haru drops her cup, when Ann starts crying, when Morgana jumps onto the table, when Yusuke lets go of his sketchbook, when Ryuji's smile fades into the sickening reality of having lost everything, they all know:

It's over.


	2. Standby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took forever, but here's the next part!

It's not an exaggeration to say that Ryuji cries for a week straight. He doesn't go to school, ignores his friends' calls and his mom's pleads for him to open the door. He even refuses to leave his room unless he's home alone, and the only things he's had over the course of a week were dry bread, too much soda for his stomach to deal with and what felt like a dozen or two gallons of his own, salty tears.

Were he to look at himself in the mirror, he'd probably be shocked, but he decides against it vehemently whenever he needs to use the bathroom. His whole body aches, a fact he chooses to ignore as well, but it's nothing compared to his rotting, toxic mindset. His knuckles are bloody from how many times he's thrown them into a wall or door, his cheeks red from the salty tears running down them for days, his leg throbs like it hasn't in months due to him not giving a shit about how he's been moving it or putting too much weight on the right side of his body.

The worst part, however, is how little he cares. There isn't much more than one thing on his mind – Akira. _Akira._ The source of joy i his measly life, the reason Ryuji has ever managed to stand up for himself, his savior in days when he was almost scarily close to dropping out of school; his pillar to lean on, his best friend and definitely the very best thing to ever happen to him.

_It's childish_ , he can almost hear people say.  _You're young, you'll get over it one day, there will be others._

Other friends, other reasons to live.

But none of them understand – Akira has always been and will always be so much more than your regular classmate or buddy or teenager. He's influenced a sheer insane amount of people in the short time he's spent in Tokyo, and just the  _thought_ of never seeing him again-

Before he can think about it or force himself to keep it in, Ryuji's on his feet and rushing for the bathroom. That isn't entirely new either, because it isn't the first time that the thought of Akira being _dead_ makes him feel sick on the spot. Throwing up has never felt and will never feel worse than it does these days – it's sour, acidic almost, which isn't a surprise considering he's hardly eaten anything all these days and generally feels like he's dying inside out.

When he makes the rush back for his room, he can already hear his phone buzzing. He's been turning it on and off at least a few dozen times now, but the more time passes, the more he finds himself wanting to shut the device down for good. While on the first days, he's still felt some sort of hope, it's long but gone now. He knows, because no matter how stubborn, ignorant and childish he can be, there's absolutely no way to deny it:

Akira is gone.

“Goddamn it.”

Ryuji's voice is pathetically weak, and the force with which he throws his fist into the door questionable at best. He's out of energy, and not willing to refill it, no matter what.

The buzzing goes on and on and _on_ and he holds his head desperately, closes his eyes as if that would shut the world down or turn back time or change even just a single thing; but it doesn't, he knows, he's known for long enough, and yet nothing inside him is ready to accept it, to face reality.

His mailbox goes off, and he lets out the breath he can't remember holding, but the bliss is of short endurance, because the buzzing goes off again seconds after. Everything in him screams to pick up the phone and smash it into the wall, but he forces himself not to, forces himself to look at the screen that shows the name he's seen on it at least three times everyday since-

It stops, and instead the display shows missed messages from the same person, and Ryuji can't suppress the guilt building up inside him. She doesn't deserve this. _She doesn't deserve this._

He scrolls past all messages, ignoring all but the very last.

_**From: Takamaki Ann** _

_15:43: I know it hurts, Ryuji. We all do. But please, talk to me, talk to US! You have to start somewhere!_

And even though there are a dozen things he wants to reply, a thousand ways he could explain why she is wrong, that he doesn't have to do anything, that none of them understand the first bit about what's going on, all he manages to reply is:

_**To: Takamaki Ann** _

_16:04: I ain't ready for this._

Judging from how there are no further messages all day long, maybe she  _does_ understand him a bit.

\--- ---

He has no idea what finally urges him to return to school, but when he sees the dirty looks on him the day he finally does, he's all but ready to rethink and turn on his heel, head back home and let all the bad thoughts and feelings embrace him again like they have for the past two weeks – or were it three? He doesn't even remember, really.

“Just like this idiot to show up a few days before finals.”

_As if he cared about finals even one bit._

“He'll fail anyway, won't he?”

_Yeah, most likely._

He doesn't even have the energy left to reply, to throw them a dirty look, to try and fight against all these people judging him like they always used to. It's as if his source of rebellion has left him and there's nothing left.

“Ryuji!”

Ann's voice hurts in his ears; it's high-pitched but weak, and it doesn't need a mastermind to hear her shock. It's not very surprising, either, since Ryuji didn't get around seeing himself in the mirror this morning. His face looks fallen in, pale, there are huge dark bags under his eyes and he knows that his black roots begin to show, none of which he gives a damn about, but he's aware of how bad he looks with it.

She comes to a halt right before him, and by the fact that they're almost at equal eye level, he notices how much worse his posture has gotten. That isn't a surprise either, though; he's actually more confused that his bad leg carries him at all at this point, and part of him wishes that it didn't, that he could just fall flat on his face and stay there all day, all night, for all eternity, face buried in the dirty cold linoleum floor.

Before Ann can say another word, he shakes his head and passes her by, but manages to squeeze her shoulder on the way, his grip just as weak as his voice.

“I ain't ready for this.”

He can see her nod shakily, tears piling up in her eyes, and even though she looks a decent chunk better than he does, it isn't _that_ much of a difference really. There's no doubt they're both heartbroken, d the way the other students look at them for it is just another proof of how fucked up this whole school, this whole world truly is.

_You wouldn't have cared_ , he thinks, knowing that he shouldn't think it.  _You only ever saw the bad in order to fight it, not mourn it._

Classes are a chore, but he forces himself to school day after day after day for the rest of the week, almost aggressively ignoring Ann, Makoto and Haru, but it's not much of a surprise that they group up to finally catch him on Saturday afternoon, manage to sandwich him between them somehow and force him on the train to Shibuya and, eventually, to Yongen-Jaya.

Just thinking about the station brings him close to tearing up, and he isn't sure if the fact that they visibly feel the same makes it better or worse.

They find Leblanc empty, except for Futaba, Yusuke and boss, all of them reeking of the foul, disgusting mood that has a constant hold of all of them. Seconds and minutes and hours pass, the cafe is filled with silent and noisy tears, screams and cries and pleads and Ryuji finds himself repeating the same words he's said before, hears them pounding in his head over and over.

“I ain't ready for this.”

_I ain't ready for this. I ain't ready for this._

Somewhere in the back of his mind, hidden where he doesn't allow himself to think of, he can't help but fear the luring truth, patiently waiting to surface, ready to suffocate him with sheer brutality.

_I'll never be ready to let go of you._


	3. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been lying around half-finished for like a month, and suddenly during a bus ride, I felt motivated to finish it.  
> I'll forever have a soft spot for Yusuke drawing Ryuji, it gives me life.

It’s colder than usually in the studies of Kosei. Ryuji isn’t sure what he’s doing here anyway, but he supposes that with their leader gone, he isn’t the only one who’s lonely — he knows how hard it’s been for Futaba, at least. She’s even more locked up now than she used to be before warming up to them, and even though she sometimes answers his casual, _trying-to-take-care-of-her_ texts, he knows that she’s forcing herself.

Honestly, he’s forcing himself, too.

After having met with the rest of the Thieves the other day, he’s promised himself to at least  _ try _ . For the sake of the friends that are left, for his mom, for…

He shakes his head, sighs and looks up to his friend who hands him a cup of hot chocolate. It’s relatively rare for them to spend time with each other excluding their friends, maybe because they’re so _fundamentally_ different, but for a change, Ryuji doesn’t mind — because Yusuke doesn’t ask questions. He understands, he accepts, and he doesn’t force Ryuji out of his comfortable bubble of neglect.

Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to give in.

“It may seem like the wrong time to you, but I shall guarantee that it’s never not the right time for art.”

He nods, shrugs and lets it happen. It’s not the first time he models for Yusuke, and it won’t be the last, but never has the mood been so foul, so melancholic, so…

Empty.

Part of him is just waiting to be called out for some bullshit like a bad aura coming from him, for not taking his position correctly, but none of that happens. They both sit in silence, Ryuji pitying himself and hating the world, Yusuke drawing as if his life depended on it — honestly, it probably does.

Ryuji chuckles dryly at the thought.

“ Where did we go wrong?” he asks suddenly, not even sure why he still cares. Even if they were to find the error in their ways, there’s no way to turn back time, even with the powers of the Metaverse, so there’s hardly any use in trying. Still, part of him wants to understand — if it was fate that led them were they are, or their own childish pride, their  _ arrogance. _

Yusuke finishes his sketch in silence, doesn’t look up, doesn’t even attempt to answer. That’s fine; Ryuji knows he’s heard him, and that at some point, he’ll get a cryptic answer that will not make any sense to him; he’s used to that by now. They’re not incredibly close, he feels, but they’re friends enough for him to understand.

Finally, when Yusuke gets up and gestures him that he’s done for the moment, Ryuji rises to his feet, buries one hand in his pockets and finally drinks the now warm chocolate with the other, sits down on the bed and leans back against the wall. He’s weak, frustrated, and life has yet to start making sense again. He’s heard that sometimes it takes weeks, months or even years.

He doesn’t want to _imagine_ even a single day without Akira.

“ It is hard to say if we truly did something  _ wrong. _ ”

Cryptic, as he’d expected. Even so, he shakes his head, frowns and tries to keep his anger in. If they hadn’t gone wrong somewhere, his best friend would be somewhere right here, sitting next to him, playing with his stupid phone like some player, grinning smugly and slurping on a cup of way too bitter coffee.

But he isn’t, and he’ll never again be there. He’ll never smile encouragingly again, he’ll never give any of them hope again, he’ll never be the force that keeps them together ever again.

“I can’t…,” Ryuji starts, shaking his head almost mechanically. “I just can’t fuckin’ accept that. How am I supposed to deal with’m being gone?”

“Isn’t time supposed to heal all wounds?”

He makes a shrieking sound and nods rapidly.

“Well, if it is, it’s pretty damn shitty at the job.”

He dares to look down on his bad leg, lets his hand rest on it and bites his lip to keep in everything else he wants to say, wants to _scream_ until his heart stops beating. There is no way that time would ever be able to mend the gaping hole in him that losing Akira had caused, and no way that he would ever accept a world in which his leader, his _best friend_ wasn’t right next to him for the rest of his life.

“This ain’t ever going to be alright,” he murmurs silently, chuckles humorlessly and looks up to find Yusuke stare at him, or the empty space right by his side, as if he’s seeing something that’s gone, something that should be there but no longer is.

It’s genuine enough to make Ryuji look over as well, to his left where he should see a small smile, stormy-gray eyes hidden behind fashion glasses, wild hair going in all directions. But even when he tries really hard, closes his eyes and inhales deeply, none of it holds up. There isn’t a warm, comfortable shoulder leaning against his own, there isn’t the almost invasive smell of coffee and curry, there isn’t _anything_ for him to focus on, as much as he yearns for it to be.

“Perhaps, this is what...yes, I’m sure it is,” Yusuke says to himself and returns to his canvas, continues working on whatever it is, and leaves Ryuji looking after him in surprise without giving any kind of proper explanation. At least that is typical enough to make him smile, even if weakly. It’s a little soothing to see that some things go on, and yet it scares him — to imagine a world where even without Akira, time moves onward, where the sun rises and sets and rises and sets continuously, as if it had any right to.

“I would like your opinion, if that is alright.”

He rises midway into the sentence, leaves his mug on the nightstand and scuffles over slowly, not sure what to expect. Everything Yusuke ever draws is honestly amazing, so Ryuji knows this will be, too, but when he sees it…

He’s glad he didn’t bring the mug, because he knows it would burst on the floor now.

“D-dude.”

It’s him, obviously, because why wouldn’t he be on it? The frown he knows he’s been wearing all day is turned into a genuine smile, his eyes lying on the body next to his, the one that’s not physically there, the one he aches to see and feel and reach out for again.

Next to him, immortalized in black on white, is his best friend, the love of his short life, his hero, his reason to believe in a future, smiling as genuinely as Ryuji’s own counterpart, holding a coffee mug in one hand and reaching out to adjust his glasses with the other.

“I-it’s almost…”

It almost feels like he’s really there, as stupid as that sounds, but apparently, Yusuke’s art is just _that_ powerful. Ryuji has to will himself immensely in order not to cry on the spot, because that’s all he’s _already_ been doing for the last weeks straight. But there’s something, a sort of melancholy he can’t control washing up in him, and he has to swallow to get its bad taste out of his mouth.

“You’re amazin’,” he ends up saying eventually, in genuine aw and respect for what he’s seeing. 

“I appreciate your compliment, but I merely depictured what you offered me.”

“Offered?”

“Yes. Your unrestrained, honest feelings, the kind that you so rarely see in people. When you were searching for something by your side, I knew that what I was seeing was the truth.”

He simply stares, not sure if his desperate wish to see Akira again really shows through his actions so  _ immensely _ . Part of him hopes it’s true, yet another is scared. He’s well aware of how fast Akira took the center spot of Ryuji’s life when he entered it, there’s no denying that. But is he really that obviously lost?

“ I guess the truth is that I’m fuckin’ hopeless,” he says, walks back to the bed and picks his mug back up to empty it in one go. The smile on the canvas is something no one has seen on him ever since  _ that day _ , and he finds it impossible to even just imagine ever being so content and satisfied with his life again. All that occupies his mind are sadness, despair, anxiety, and… 

And indescribable anger at the person responsible for this. The one occupying TV with his stupid interviews about the Phantom Thieves, the one who pretended to be their ally in order to take _everything_ from them.

Ryuji wonders why Akechi hasn’t tried to make a move on the other thieves yet, but he absolutely swears to himself that if it _ever_ happens, he’ll punch that bastard’s face in like no tomorrow, no matter the consequences.

“ I would prefer the word  _ lost _ , Ryuji,” Yusuke suddenly speaks up, startling him. Right, he’s still here.

“Lost?”

“ Having the leader around used to give you a sense of purpose,  _ meaning _ . With him gone, you have to find something new, and that is far from easy.”

_ Something new _ .

But he doesn’t _want_ anything new in the first place. Nothing in the world could replace Akira; the thought alone is ridiculous. He’s been so much that no one ever has or ever will be.

“I doubt that’s possible.”

“I understand.”

They both fall silent, and they never pick the topic back up.


End file.
